Page 25 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

Sleep doesn’t come easily. Even after the walk home with Kade, a man whose intentions I still can’t quite figure out, my mind won’t shut down.

Each intake of air feels heavy, as though my lungs are struggling to find oxygen in the dark, still air of my bedroom.

My heart pounds irregularly, the anxiety dancing through my veins, relentless and exhausting.

Why did I give him my number?

I roll over, tugging the sheets higher around my body, searching for comfort in the cool fabric, but it eludes me.

Trusting people isn’t exactly my strong suit, yet there’s something strangely magnetic about Kade, something subtly reassuring beneath his carefully controlled exterior.

The contradiction frustrates me and makes my thoughts spiral further into uncertainty.

A soft vibration breaks through my restless musings.

My phone glows faintly on the bedside table, drawing my eyes like a beacon in the dark.

Kade’s name flashing across the screen quickens my heartbeat.

I hesitate only a second before lifting the device and swiping open the message with cautious fingers.

Just wanted to make sure you got home safe.

I bite my lip, staring at the simple text and feeling strangely vulnerable. Is this genuine concern or another layer to a game I can’t yet comprehend?

I did. Thank you, Kade.

My reply feels inadequate, clipped, and cautious. Yet, anything more feels dangerously exposing.

Seconds tick by, each one drawn out and heavy, before another message vibrates gently in my palm.

Good. Try to get some sleep, Celeste. You’re not alone.

His words, carefully chosen, send a chill down my spine that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

I let the phone rest against my chest, the gentle warmth radiating from it oddly comforting.

Despite my lingering suspicions, his reassurance wraps around me, easing the restless tension just enough for sleep to claim me.

The morning sun finds me groggy and reluctant.

I drag myself from the tangled sheets, stretching out sore muscles, my limbs heavy as lead.

The routine of showering, dressing, and sipping bitter coffee unfolds mechanically, my thoughts continuously drifting back to the unsettling events of yesterday and Kade’s unsettling kindness.

The clinic feels oppressively sterile when I arrive, the white walls and muted sounds amplifying my unease.

I sit behind my desk, my fingers hovering aimlessly over the keyboard, barely registering the emails that pile up, unread.

The weight of unseen eyes, imagined or real, presses on my shoulders, oppressive and heavy.

A soft knock startles me, and I look up sharply, my heart fluttering wildly.

Alec stands in the doorway, his expression gentle but lined with concern. “Morning,” he says cautiously, stepping inside when I offer a hesitant nod. “You look exhausted. Rough night?”

“You could say that,” I respond vaguely, forcing a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I’m torn, tempted to share my unease, yet reluctant to further expose my vulnerabilities.

He sits carefully, observing me with that steady, thoughtful gaze I’ve always found both comforting and unnerving. “Celeste, something’s off. You’re not yourself.”

I inhale slowly, gathering the courage to speak plainly. “Have you noticed anything strange lately? People acting differently, unusual behaviors around here?”

He leans forward slightly, his voice lowering to a concerned whisper. “Like what?”

“Just… odd occurrences,” I begin hesitantly, unsure how much to divulge. “Things moved slightly in my apartment, a feeling of being watched… maybe I’m losing my mind.”

He reaches out instinctively, touching my hand lightly, reassuringly. “You’re not losing your mind, Celeste. Trust your instincts. Have you reported this?”

“No,” I admit, pulling my hand back slightly.

Alec’s expression darkens thoughtfully. “Maybe we should start being more cautious, more observant. I’ll keep my eyes open. We’ll figure this out together.”

I nod slowly, gratitude washing over me. But his protective stance can’t entirely dispel the lingering uncertainty still fluttering inside my chest.

The day drags on sluggishly, every minute stretching unbearably. Each passing hour leaves me feeling more unsettled, anxiety twisting tighter inside me. By the time the sky outside darkens, fatigue has nestled deep into my bones.

I step outside into the evening air, breathing deeply and feeling slightly calmer beneath the cool twilight. As I turn toward home, a shadow separates itself from the wall, stepping closer with intent purpose.

“Celeste,” the familiar voice calls softly. My heartbeat quickens once more, this time laced with something more complicated than fear.

“Kade,” I respond softly, turning slowly to face him and feeling the tentative threads of trust pull tighter. “Are you following me now?”

He chuckles softly, almost to himself, the sound warm enough to loosen the tension in my chest. “Would you hate me if I said I was?”

“Probably,” I respond with more bravado than I feel, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I saw you leaving,” he explains gently, stepping closer but carefully keeping a respectful distance. “You looked worried again. Couldn’t help myself.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, pulling at defenses that feel increasingly fragile. “I appreciate the concern, Kade, but…”

“But?” he prompts, his voice barely louder than the soft breeze rustling around us.

“But I don’t understand why,” I whisper, feeling my defenses lower slightly to reveal a vulnerability that I rarely allow. “Why do you care?”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze deep and intense beneath the dimming sky. “Because sometimes, even I can’t ignore someone who so clearly needs help.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight, my heart hammering erratically. “Do you really want to help, Kade? Or is there something else you’re after?”

He pauses, the air thickening between us with unspoken meaning.

Finally, he speaks, his voice steady and soft and loaded with a sincerity that I find both terrifying and irresistible.

“Maybe a little of both, Celeste. I’m helping you because I genuinely care, and I want to be near you because you’re becoming important to me,” he clarifies, his voice steady and soft, sincerity flickering in his eyes.

“But I promise, my intentions are good.”

I stare at him, torn, desperate to believe him yet terrified to trust. After a long moment, I offer a faint nod, accepting this fragile truce, aware of the dangerous, uncertain path now stretching between us.

We walk together in silence, the soft crunch of our footsteps on the pavement the only sound between us. Streetlights flicker above, their warm light casting shifting shadows over the sidewalk. Kade glances at me occasionally, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

“Are you hungry?” he asks suddenly, his voice casual but careful. “There’s a small diner not far from here. It’s open late, and it’s private.”

I hesitate. “Now?”

“Only if you want to,” he says quickly, his palms open, as though showing he has nothing to hide.

The idea of food turns my stomach, but part of me doesn’t want to go home just yet. Not to the silence. Not to the ghosts.

“Okay,” I say. “Just for a little while.”

He smiles, and something shifts in his gaze—a flicker of relief, maybe. Or something else I don’t want to examine too closely.

The diner is nearly empty when we arrive, the warm glow inside a small reprieve from the cold edge of night. We slide into a booth near the window, the vinyl squeaking beneath us. The waitress appears like clockwork, setting down two menus with practiced ease.

I barely look at mine. “You come here often?” I ask, surprising myself.

“Sometimes,” he says, watching me instead of the menu. “When I need to think.”

I nod slowly, fiddling with the edge of the napkin in my lap. “You always seem like you’re thinking.”

He laughs softly. “Am I that obvious?”

I meet his eyes then, really meet them, and something dangerous and gentle stares back at me.

“You feel like a riddle,” I whisper.

“And you feel like the only one I’ve ever wanted to solve,” he replies.

The silence that follows is heavy with something unspoken, but not unwelcome. I look away first, not because I’m afraid but because I’m not sure what it means if I’m not.

I don’t know how long we sit like that, the diner lights humming faintly above us and casting soft halos on the worn table. Kade breaks the silence first, his fingers tapping idly against the side of his water glass.

“You know,” he says after a pause, his tone unforced but thoughtful, his fingers drumming lightly against the glass, “I’ve passed your block a few times lately. I didn’t actually realize it was your place until yesterday.”

I tilt my head slightly, curious. “And?”

He shifts his gaze toward the window, the corner of his mouth tilting in something thoughtful, maybe amused. “Remember that van we talked about some time ago? The one by the bakery?”

I glance up, tension flickering in my chest. “Yeah. The one you said gave you the creeps, like it was watching you.”

He nods, his tone still light, though his eyes are a little sharper now. “I noticed it’s gone. Just… vanished. I haven’t seen it for a few days now.”

I tighten my grip on the mug. “I noticed too. It was always there. Until it wasn’t.”

Kade turns his full attention on me then, his voice lower, more cautious. “It was parked closer to your building than mine. Always. I just didn’t say it, because I didn’t know your exact building then.”

His jaw ticks, a flicker of conflict behind his gaze. “I didn’t want to scare you before I was sure.”

I breathe out slowly, trying to steady the cold knot forming in my gut. “Well, now I’m scared.”

He leans forward slightly, his voice calm but grave. “That van didn’t just disappear. Someone moved it. On purpose.”

Goosebumps rise along my arms. “You think it was watching me.”

“I think,” he says carefully, “you were the reason it was there in the first place.” Then, his voice lowers, softer than before. “I think someone wants you rattled.”

My stomach twists. “That doesn’t help.”

He leans in slightly, his arms resting on the table, the sincerity in his eyes sharp enough to make me shiver. “Then let me help. Not as a colleague. Just as someone who gives a damn.”

My eyes search his, my heart thudding. “Why do I want to believe you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, brushing a knuckle down the back of my hand. The touch is light, barely there, but it lights a fuse under my skin.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he says.

Before I can reply, the waitress returns. The food I don’t remember ordering is placed before us—grilled cheese and soup for me, black coffee and something smothered in gravy for him. I pick at mine, my appetite absent.